Raiding the Raiders
by Le1a Naberr1e
Summary: Another Big AotC missing moment story. A narration of the farmers' doomed attempt to rescue Shmi Skywalker from the Tusken Raiders.
1. Stratagems

Tatooint Incident

**Raiding the Raiders (The Farmers' Story)**

_**author's note**: This is part of my 'Tatooine Incident' stories, and is actually the repost of an older story of the same name. I had written Raiding the Raiders long before I read R. A. Salvatore's novelization of 'Attack of the Clones'. The sequence of events narrated here will vary greatly from that of the novel. Despite the fact that this is technically an 'AU' story, I hope you will still be able to enjoy it. _

**

* * *

1, Stratagems**

_Thirty of us went looking for her. _

_Four of us came back._

''

There had always been occasional scuffles over the years between the two communities: a couple of years back when the Sand People tried to stop a new family from settling at the fringes of the existing community of moisture farmers; and of course, the periodic offensives that were always demanded from the farmers whenever the Raiders attacked wayfarers. But the last time moisture farmers had prepared for an all-out raid was so far back that most men Cliegg's age had only vague memories of sitting up late at home with their mothers, waiting for their fathers and older brothers to come home. Clegg Lars returned to his family but he was one of the few who did. The raid was a success: The Sand people had been driven to the outskirts of the Dune Sea and forced to inch their way inland ever since. But a high price had been paid for that victory. But it was one that the farmers paid willingly. They would forever be willing pay the price of their freedom with their own blood before succumbing to living at the mercy of the Tuskens: succumb to literally sacrificing their women and children to appease the Sandpeople.

Tonight, they were getting ready to pay again.

For me, thought Cliegg. _For my failure._

, thought Cliegg. 

He shook his head suddenly as if he could shake out the thought. It was futile and melodramatic and irritated him to no end. There was no failure. Shmi was still alive - she had to be - and he would find her. Tonight.

Cliegg Lars sat in the farmstead land speeder, in the middle of a line of assorted vehicles that formed an ominous strip against the white desert sand. Every homestead was represented in the turn-out this night. The older ones waited in the transports, grim lines of determined awareness etched in their faces. The younger men, Owen's mates and older, stood in small groups, young bodies and low voices tense with outraged excitement.

Their attitude worried some of the older men. A family had been attacked some months back on the way across the Dune Sea. They had defended themselves and escaped but not before a boy had been badly injured and he died a few weeks later. His mates had been all but ready to storm the nearest Tusken village and, in their words, "wipe them out once and for all". It was only the intervention of Col Darklighter himself, that had finally instilled reason into their minds.

They could have prevented this... And we should have let them...

Cliegg's brooding thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a dusky, tow-headed man pulling himself out of his speeder. Col Darklighter moved into the view of all the assembly and the soft murmur of by-conversations petered and stopped.

When he spoke, it was with the confident brusqueness that made the man their natural leader.

"Okay, people. Let's go get Shmi."

As one, the farmers got out of their vehicles. Most of them were already strapped with weapons and they gripped the assortment of rifle blasters, shooters and archery closer to their bodies.

Cliegg checked his own artillery and re-tied the flapping sleeves of his outer tunic. Then, before he could persuade himself not to, he walked over to where Owen stood with his friends, Marxus Jin and Sholh Dorr.

"You boys stay put, okay?" he said gruffly, looking at each of them sternly.

Marxus and Sholh nodded smartly. "Yes, sir."

Owen folded his arms around his stomach and gave his father a blank look. Earlier on in the day, when the men had assembled together to plan their strategy, Owen and the other two boys were assigned the job of staying behind and watching all the transports. Owen had a general reputation for being a docile, hard-working boy and his spates of rebelliousness were always startling. The other farmers had been startled today. Cliegg, already short on nerves over Shmi, was infuriated. The two men had had one of their rarer and characteristically ugly confrontations. And in the absence of the mediating presence of Shmi or Beru, no reconciliation had been reached as of yet.

Owen's silence did not go unnoticed. Cliegg felt pinpricks of irritation accumulating against the back of his neck. He had not come here for a fight but he would be damned if he was expected to apologise to his own son.

"Okay?" Cliegg repeated loudly.

"Yes, _sir_," snapped Owen finally.

Cliegg's temper flared at once. "You mind your tone of voice, boy."

Owen glared at him in apology.

"Is there a problem over here?" Col Darklighter could spot trouble faster than a krayt dragon could fly and he was between the Lars in a flash. "Cliegg Lars, what do you think you're doing? We're all set to go."

The other men were gathering nearer. Nathan Kendall placed a hand on Cliegg's shoulder.

"Cliegg, we're wasting time," he said gently. "Come on."

Cliegg shrugged the hand off and gave Owen one last hard stare. The boy returned it wholeheartedly. Then Cliegg turned on his heel and walked off. After a while, he could hear the other men follow.

Cliegg cursed himself all the way, unable to remove the image of Shmi's disappointed face from his mind, unable to stop thinking that in the likely event he did not come back, his last words to his only son would have been in anger.

''

The Sand people camped in a stretch of land at the East of the Dune Sea. The land lay in the shadow of a steep crag and was bounded by a crude semicircle of boulders. It was a well-chosen, geographically protected enclosure.

The farmers had scouted out the Tuskens' village during the day and they abandoned their transport ten metres from the camp before they made their way across the sand on foot. To do otherwise would have been folly. In the windy night, every sound was magnified and echoed for metres across the sand. The farmers moved stealthily under the sound cover of the far off cries of krayt dragons and other desert scavengers. Cliegg steadfastly resisted the persistent urge to look over his shoulder. Owen and the boys were as capable as anything. They would be fine.

They were close now enough to the settlement to make out the individual lights of each rounded hut. There were a lot of lights. Cliegg had never been this close to a Tusken camp but his inexperienced eyes realized all the same that the number of huts was unusually large. He glanced at the face of the man walking nearest to him and saw his own apprehension mirrored on there.

There were two Raiders patrolling the settlement; the farmers shifted their path until they were blocked from view by the nearest boulder. They had borrowed a trick from their enemies and they moved in two single files.

When they reached the boulder, they stopped at Col's hand. He turned to face them; Nathan and another man drew nearer to him. All the men as one bent to a crouch and looked at each other. In the moonlight, their faces glowed strangely with a pale and lifeless sheen. Cliegg shivered and channelled his thoughts on the reality of getting his wife back.

Col nodded to the rest of the group. "We all know what to do. You guys stay put and Nat, Jin and I will see what we can find. Unless I give the signal, nobody here moves, you got that?" His eyes shifted to Cliegg and rested there.

Cliegg was not part of the scouting team for the same reason that Owen had been left behind to watch the transports but that Col unnecessarily singled him out grated.

Cliegg nodded curtly.

The three men stood up, turned their backs on the rest of the group and moved to the edge of the boulder. There was a pause while they waited for the patrol closest to them to complete his forward motion and turn his back to them. Then they were moving swiftly, running to hide behind the next boulder, and then behind another one, all the while, going further in and then further in, until they disappeared completely from sight.

''

_tbc_


	2. Reconnaissance

**Raiding the Raiders**

**

* * *

2, Reconnaissance **

It was no mental exaggeration. The was camp more than twice the size of the usual Tusken settlement. Several tribes must have banded together. It certainly explained why they could choose a site that was more suited for permanent residence than their usual nomadic camps. Col Darklighter noted all this with growing disquiet as he and Nathan continued their stealthy prance towards the nearest hut. He was beginning to realize that with these numbers, their original plan was barely feasible. It was one thing searching through a dozen or less huts for Shmi; it was entirely another thing searching through more than three score.

Only one boulder stood between them and the huts. The patrolling Raider on their side had just pivoted and was now walking towards their position. The three men halted and dropped to their haunches as gently as possible, backs against the large rock. Col used the reprieve to think strategically.

He was the only one of the able bodied farmers who had been old enough to participate in the last raid. Then he had also been part of the scouting team. He, his uncle and his neighbour had found the two Whitesnow children in a hut at the fringes of the camp. Assuming that the Tuskens had placed them there because they were the most dispensable of their possessions, it followed that that would be where Shmi would be found now.

Peeking from the edge of their shelter, Col's eyes swept the silent camp. At first glance, the tent-like huts did not appear to be arranged in any particular order; closer observation showed that they made a series of concentric circles around a dim fire that blazed from the approximate centre of the camp. There was a small light gleaming through each dome-shaped tent, small flames that burnt for a species that seemed to be biologically acclimated to the desert glare. At least one bantha lay sleeping on all fours in front of each hut, a personal watch guard.

The patrol did an about-turn.

Col turned back to the other men and dropped his voice as low as it could go and still be heard. "Nathan, Jin go west and split. I'll go east. Only the huts on the fringe. If you find Shmi, take her, get back here and drop the marker. Then take off. Whoever has to go full circle follow behind."

They nodded curtly, their eyes shining the reflection of the camp lights. Then they got to their feet and flew lightly to the first huts, splitting evenly to check different tents. Col did not wait to watch them. In a few minutes, the patrol would finish his retreat. He got to his feet and made a dash to the eastern tent.

The clenched paw of the bantha opened with a snap of claws.

''

Outside the thick canvas of the dome-shaped hut, Nathan froze in his tracks, his breath seizing completely. Where he stood, he was both shielded from the patrol's view and within yards of the sleeping bantha. Or at least, it should have been sleeping…

The creature stretched out its front paws, shifted its weight on the sand, and became silent once more.

Nathan exhaled painfully. He returned his attention to the transparent tent cloth before him. He could only make out that the flame light originated from a point in the centre of the tent room and cast dim shadows on dark indeterminate shapes. He got down on his knees and ran his fingers underneath the cloth until he found the opening Col had taught them to find. Then, as gently and silently as he could (the bantha snapped its paw shut), he pulled out as much cloth as could give him passage, got down on his belly and crawled into the tent.

The flame light served only marginally better at closer range. The interior of the tent was dark and stuffy. Nathan waited for his eyes to accommodate to the glare and to ensure that his entrance had not been detected; and while he waited, his nerves stretched with tension. _Quickly. Quickly._

After a while that seemed longer than it actually was, his instincts deemed it safe to stand. He looked around intensely, first with anxiety then curiosity.

The tent was probably home to a Sand family. In the centre of the room lay five bodies stretched on a large mat. The two larger ones, adults, lay on the edges of the mat, protecting three smaller bodies of varying sizes. All of them were entirely embalmed in the Sand people's usual garb. Perhaps the stories were true and those eye guards and face masks really were part of their anatomy. The room had an assortment of oddities: an open fire coming from a hole dug in the ground, an exquisitely carved alasl bowl lying carelessly on the floor, a collection of weapons: gaffi sticks and knives that hung upside down from the top of a tent pole, an oddly shaped lump on the ground which on closer inspection turned out to be a pile of clothes, and a lot of strange equipment that Nathan had not name or analogy to.

You're wasting time. The thought came to him abruptly. Shmi was not here; and he had a dozen more Tusken homes to be fascinated by. He turned around, dropped to his knees and the bantha outside rose on its front paws and howled.

Nathan's left knee unlocked and his thigh hit the sandy ground with a thump. The noise was nothing more than a silent muffle against the reverberating echo of the bantha's cry but it seemed to bounce off Nathan's skin and echo through the canvas walled tent. Even then, he was sure the thunder of his drumming heart would be enough to drown out both sounds. Mentally, he recited a litany of insults and curses to himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the figures stir.

Nathan's eyes flew to the family on the floor at the same time as his hand flew to the shooter on his hip. The moving figure was one of the small ones; it turned on its side, huddled closer to the adult next to it and stayed completely still. Nathan risked a glance outside. From the opening in the tent, he could see the bantha lie back on its side and remain still. He listened hard but there was no sound of running feet or Sand people stirring in the other tents. Apparently, occasional night cries from these animals were commonplace. Still, Nathan stayed paralyzed with caution for long minutes before he finally started moving. More carefully now, he flattened himself on his stomach and crawled out the way he came.

The night air was wonderful after the stuffiness of the tent. Nathan stood as high as a crouch and moved to the next tent.

Inside the tent he just left, a Sand child was frantically shaking its parent awake.

''

_tbc_


	3. Battlefield

**Raiding the Raiders**

* * *

3, Battlefield 

The canvas cloth of the tent trembled slightly as Jin's feet slithered out from beneath its bottom. He was shifting the balance of his weight to his hands to raise himself up when he felt the pressure on his neck.

Jin reacted at once, his body coiling in preparation to spring at his antagonist when he heard a soft thud and an urgent, familiar voice beside him.

"Steady, there, Jin!" Col Darklighter said sharply.

Jin whispered a furious description of Col's maternal ancestors before his body went from tension to forced relaxation painfully. He just managed to hold his weight up with his hands as spasms passed through his not quite so young body. "Real smart, Darklighter, surprising me like that. Real smart." He managed to splutter.

"Lucky for you, it was just me," retorted Col Darklighter.

Jin quickly got on his knees, brushing off the sand from his face to glare at the other man. Col stood at a crouch and the two men were face to face. Darklighter's neck twisted as he gave their surroundings a quick scan.

"Where's Nathan?" He asked sharply.

"We split, just like you told us to." Jin replied.

"He should be here by now. Unless..."

The two men locked gazes. Identical expressions of incredulous hope spread across their faces.

Jin said the shared thought out loud. "Unless he's found Shmi and headed back. He didn't give the warning signal."

Darklighter didn't smile but the creases on his face seemed to contract with gladness. "Come on, Jin. Let's get going."

Mission accomplished successfully and simply, it suddenly seemed easier to work their way back around the settlement. They occasionally paused for the patrol to change direction, and there was a longer pause when Jin tripped over a stick in the sand. But they made better time going out than coming in and very soon, the large boulder where they had sheltered before invading the settlement was within metres. Emboldened by their success, the two men broke into a sprint as they went round the rock.

From behind them came the sound of running feet.

''

The scream broke through the night and the silence was killed with a vengeance.

The unearthly, bloodcurdling cry of utter horror and agony bounced off the large boulders, across the desert sand, up the overhanging cliff and into the night sky.

''

Owen Lars was sitting in the family's speeder, fighting against anxiety and resentment while trying not to fall asleep when he heard it. He jumped to his feet at once and ran to the edge of the parked transports, Marx and Shollie hot on his heels.

''

Darklighter was a dark effigy against the white sand, face down and spread-eagled, a gaffi stick with its axe blade standing like a flag in his back.

The Tusken that threw it had already reached the body. He bent over it, pulled out his weapon and struck at the neck to certify death. Then he turned to the man standing beside it.

Jin was completely paralyzed. His hand hovered uselessly beside the shooter at his hip as he stared down at the lifeless thing on the ground that not so long had been his oldest friend, the most intimidating and vibrant man on the farmlands. His heartbeat had literally slowed with shock, and his face was stretched wide with the strain of his subconscious screaming. His eyeballs strained against their sockets as they watched the hidden face of the Tusken Raider come nearer.

His heart literally stopped. Seconds before the hook of the gaffi stick went through his body, Jin was already dead from shock.

''

The screaming stopped. And the silence was quickly filled with the cries of battle.

''

Cliegg's hands shook as he uncorked the shooter to re-load it with ammunition. He could feel the occasional weight of Damel's glare on the side of his face. How the Hell the man expected Cliegg to keep up constant fire with an empty barrel was beyond him.

Finally, the cell slipped into the casing and Cliegg snapped the weapon shut. He hitched the rifle to his shoulder, took aim between the eye gaurds of the Tusken that had just reached back to throw a knife at Saul and fired.

The shot hit the shoulder and the Raider went down to be immediately replaced by two more with the same intention. Cliegg took one and Damel must have taken the other. They too were replaced at once. And all the while, the line of Raiders was coming closer. The space of metres that the farmers had managed to gain was rapidly depleting.

It had been an ambush, pure and simple. How Col Darklighter of all people and Sol Jin had been unknowingly shadowed out of the settlement until they were within seeing distance of the waiting farmers would probably remain a mystery to the ones that survived this night. It sufficed that they had been. Barely five long strides from the boulder where the rest of the farmers sheltered, the two men had come into view and the expressions on their faces rapidly changed from triumph to surprise to alarm. And then, Col Darklighter fell and Jin started screaming.

Like a large dust cloud suddenly emerging from behind the wall of boulders and moving swiftly across the desert sand, the Sand People descended on the farmers as one body. Nobody ever saw what silenced Sol Jin. The farmers were too busy scrabbling for their weapons and blasting wild shots at the Tuskens, even as they tried to navigate their way out of the circle of boulders and into the much wider desert space. They were beginning to understand just how strategically effective the location of the settlement was. The tall boulders that had protected the invaders were now their undoing. In the confusion of the melee, most of the farmers had lost their bearings and some rushed blindly from boulder to boulder, moving towards the settlement rather than away from it. Each rock was the height of a tall wall and the span of seven men. A miscalculated rush behind one led several a farmer into the deadly embrace between Tusken knife and gaffi stick.

The men that made it out of the rocks and unto the open plain, made their stand in scattered groups wherever they could. Cliegg and Damel Morse found a niche together.

A gaffi stick flew at them. Still firing, Cliegg pushed off his knees and rolled in the sand. The hook end of the weapon dug into the spot of sand where his knees had rested and found purchase. Its owner was a metre away, moonlight flashing on a brandished blade. Cliegg took aim but Damel fired. He was shouting something. Cliegg paused between blaster fire to listen.

"We've got to move!" Damel was shouting. "They're getting closer."

Ten metres from them, a Raider's knife slashed an arc of silver through the sky and into Dan Lewis. Cliegg's neighbour dropped like a pile of tin bricks and the Raider bent over to retrieve his knife. Cliegg blasted off its head with only one shot.

"They're almost on top of us! We have to move!"

The Raiders were nearer. Cliegg's finger barely left the trigger as he shot a spray of laser flame indiscrimatedly into the unbroken line of Sand People. It stayed unbroken. For every Raider that fell, two rose to take its place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Damel get on his feet, rifle still on his shoulder and grab at him. Cliegg threw him off so abruptly that the man stumbled.

"I'm not going anywhere!"

"There are too many of them! We're out-numbered!"

Something had happened to Saul's shooter. He had abandoned it for a knife and was fighting hand to hand with a Raider. Two other Raiders joined the fight. Cliegg took aim just as Damel grabbed at him again.

Cliegg's aim went wide, blaster fire pouring uselessly into the air. Swearing, Cliegg swung his rifle and would have hit Damel if the other man hadn't moved quickly.

"Get off me!" Cliegg warned. He took aim again. Saul was nowhere in sight. Rage poured like an electric charge from his finger to the trigger. "You want to run? Run! I'm not going nowhere!"

Damel swore. "You're crazy!" And then he took off, his kicking feet adding to the cloud of dust that dulled everything within a metre from the sand.

The line was ten metres away from Cliegg. He picked his targets more carefully, adrenaline giving him perfect aim as he knocked them down like matchstick men.

Seven metres. Another knife came flying to him, he dodged it by a half-breath. The shot that took down that Raider was not from him. There were other men still standing to fight.

Five metres. The trigger was warm and slippery against his index finger and a shot went wild.

Three metres. He got to his feet and pulled the rifle out in front of him, shooting all the while as he walked backwards.

Two metres. No need to throw a gaffi stick, the Tuskens brandished their knivess to strike at him. Cliegg wrapped both hands firmly on the gun and stood his ground.

One metre.

''

_tbc_


	4. Prisoners of War

**Raiding the Raiders**

* * *

4, Prisoners of War 

Grains of sand were pressing into Nathan's face. He could feel them in the fibres of his beard, cutting across the bridge of his nose. He inhaled sharply and they flew into his nostrils, making him to coughed and splutter as the wind of pebbles poisoning his lungs even further. He tried to move his face from underneath the sand blanket and he realized that he was lying face-down in the sand.

He tried lifting his head and as if a central switch was turned on, every single nerve synapse in his body came alive with pain. He gasped in pain, drawing in more sand into his throat and he just managed to turn his face so it rested on a cheek. His eyes were open and blinded with dust and they watered freely. The cold desert wind whipped through his clothes and cut his already dry skin with its harshness. He was completely and utterly exhausted.

When the tears had cleaned out his eyes, he opened them. At first, Nathan could barely understand what he was seeing: bulky shapes moving against a bright, blazing flame; the white sand around him was dotted with odd-looking lumps. He lifted his head higher and could make out large, dome-shaped silhouettes. His eyes hurt and he closed them. When he opened them again, the picture started making sense.

He was in the Tusken settlement. Right in its centre, if his estimation was correct. The moving shapes were the Raiders standing guard over him and the lumps on the ground… He stared hard at the one closest to him; he made out the soft light-brown hair, wet in patches of some dark liquid, the two legs, the flung-out arm, the trademark pair of blue homespun overalls. Damel. Owen. They all lay prone on the ground as if they had been thrown there. They were all probably unconscious - he hoped - and they were obviously, as he was, the prisoners of the Sand People.

His eyes went to their captors again. Two Raiders were constructing something with wood in front of the fire. Another pair started walking towards the farmers, brandishing a pair of knives.

''

If Nathan had not already immobilized by his bindings, he would still be paralyzed by his injuries. All the same, his wrists and ankles strained against the thick ropes as his fear and hatred gave him phantom strength.

Even in his worst nightmares, he had not lived through what was happening before him.

They had just… his mind could not articulate the word… to Saul.

Now, it was Damel they held up against the cross bars. His face was slick with moisture from his own vomit. His red hair was flying ever which way as he struggled viciously against his restrainers' grip. It was of no use. He was latched to the wooden rack as effortlessly as if he had been docile. The Sand People moved back and the ritual that had been performed before Nathan's eyes on Tarian, Sol, Kijj was now performed on Damel.

It was not a series of screams. It was one perpetual cry that continued from echo to scream to echo. Nathan felt the salt of tears in his mouth and he shouted his rage into the empty, hopeless night. One of the Sand people walked to him at once and stabbed him in the leg with his Gaderffi. It was a mere pinprick to the perpetual agony that was his body but Nathan was surprised he could even still feel pain. He fell on his side and listened to another farmer's hysterical sobs.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Nathan wondered who it was and why he was apologizing. He did not realize that he was the one crying.

''

It was a clean cut. The knife slashed once and the tendon was torn from the bone. Owen Lars' leg hung limply by the thread of his leggings, then it fell with a plonk and rolled twice on the sand.

Nathan had stopped screaming. Instead, he watched with numb relief as the knife went up again. It was poetic justice that he was the last. That he would have to watch the ordeal of all his friends and life-time mates and then suffer through it himself. He was the fool that had messed up the raid in the first place; it was his carelessness that caused this. It was only fair, after all. The knife came down again and Cliegg's voice echoed off the tents. Nathan helped him scream. After all, the louder the victim screamed, the more frenzied the Sand People seemed to be. Earlier on, when he had tried to distract himself from the ritual at the crossbars, his eyes had found the crowd that had gathered at the other side of the flames. They were participating in the ritual with as much liveliness as children at the Sand Fair, screaming and jumping in tandem with the agonies of the farmers. One small Sand person dashed after Cliegg's leg and was intercepted by a bigger one which struck it. A small melee followed with the villagers obviously taking sides over the matter. Cliegg was temporarily abandoned as the butchers went to sort out the matter.

Nathan was still screaming for Cliegg otherwise he might have started now for himself. These delays were the worst of it all, the absolute worst. He pounded his bound wrists against the sand and felt the humming vibration of an approaching speeder.

''

_tbc_


	5. Salvage

**Raiding the Raiders**

* * *

5, Salvage 

It was a scene from a nightmare and if Owen had tried to take it all in, he would have lost his nerve. That was something he could not afford to do.

The speeder flew into the middle of the camp, scattering the Sand People in its wake. A Gaderffii flew over his head and he bent even lower over the controls.

"Watch it!" shouted Marx, beside him.

Owen looked up in time to see the large canvas and then he was ploughing through it, cutting through the tent and pulling the poles off the sand. The cloth fell on the speeder and pulled at it, the engines whined in protest.

"Reverse! Reverse!" Marx shouted.

They were blinded by the thick cloth. Owen's fingers felt clumsily for the controls and he could hear Marx's frantic breathing beside him. From outside came the gradually increasing shouts from the Raiders.

His hand made contact with the switch and he threw it. The speeder, the white cloth flying off above it, backed out of the tent sharply and into a line of Sand people. They scrabbled out of the way, trying to grab a hold of the speeder and climb into it. Owen spun the vehicle round sharply and threw them off. Behind him, Sholli raised the rifle shooter and threw an unbroken spray of blaster fire at them.

Owen drew as close to the cross bars as he could get. The speeder hovered beside Cliegg Lars' prone figure; Owen refused to look closer.

"Marx!" said Sholli over the fire and the screams, "I'm getting Owen's father! Cover for me!"

Marx caught the thrown rifle in one grasp and at once, stood on his knees, twisting his body round and blasting away at the Sand people that tried to get closer. Sholli jumped out of the speeder, grabbed Cliegg Lars' boots - boot - _what?_ - and pulled. He let out a shout.

"What?" cried Owen, panicked. "What?"

"Nothing!" Sholli shouted back. "But I need help. I can't carry him on my own!"

"You have to!" said Marx, bending low to duck a thrown knife.

"I can't! Owen!"

Owen jumped off the speeder in one smooth movement. He could hear Marx shouting after him. He grabbed his father's shoulders without really looking at him and with one swing, he and Sholli threw Cliegg Lars into the vehicle. Then Owen's eyes caught something.

"Nathan!" He ran the short distance to the man. Nathan Kendall lay on his side, his eyes wide open and glazed. "Nathan, get up." The man was still. For a moment, Cliegg thought he was dead then he saw the steady rise and fall of the man's chest. "Sholli, come and help me!"

Sholli came at once.

"Hurry!" said Marx from the vehicle. "I can't hold them off on my own!"

They threw in Nathan as smoothly as they had done Cliegg.

"Where are the others?" whispered Sholli urgently to Owen as he scrambled in.

"I don't know." Owen said grimly, getting behind the controls in time to knock off a Raider that had slipped under Marx's fire and reached the speeder. He felt the weight shift as Sholli climbed in.

"What do you mean?" asked Marx anxiously. Sholli took the rifle from him silently. "Where's my father?" Marx shouted.

"We don't know, Marxus!" Sholli snapped. "Owen, get us out of here!"

"I'm not leaving without my father!" bellowed Marx and he dashed towards the side of the speeder.

''

"No!" Owen yelled and threw the speeder into a 360° spin. Marx, poised at the edge of the vehicle, lost his balance and started falling outwards. Sholli dropped the rifle and lurched, grabbing him just in time. They fell to their knees, back into the vehicle together, with Sholli keeping a death grip on the younger boy.

"Can you see him? Can you see him?" Sholli gestured at the spinning whirlpool of fire and shadows that surrounded them. "We don't know where he is! And we don't have time to look!"

"You can-" began Marx, squirming viciously.

"What? Ask them? We're out-numbered! There's nothing we can do!"

"What do you care!" shouted Marx. "Let me go!"

Violently, Sholli yanked Marx to him so they were eyeball to eyeball. Sholli's eyes were burning.

"What do I care, Marxus?" Sholli whispered softly.

Marx stopped struggling and fell silent.

"Saul." Sholli hissed. "My _brother_ is here as well." His eyes were burning so hard that they watered. "And I cannot save him."

Marx's eyes blazed back, with anger and with scorn. Then suddenly, he jerked out of the older boy's hold. Sholli started after him but all Marx did was to make himself as small as possible and sink low into the speeder.

Sholli gave him a measuring glance then he lifted the rifle to his shoulder. "Let's go, Owen!"

''

The engines stalled as the speeder came out of the spin. Then they blasted ferociously and the vehicle shot out of the camp. The Sand people followed with a vengeance. A nightmarish journey ensued with Owen furiously trying to navigate the way past the identical tents and then, through the large boulders with a crowd of Raiders flying behind them like the sand devils that they were, all the while ducking the weapons they threw at him while he tried to keep his eyes on the road. The moment he ran into a dead end, they would all be all doomed; the Sand people would throw themselves at the vehicle and that would be the end.

The last boulder was just up ahead. Owen swerved around it. Then the speeder was shooting out of the site like a pistol. Owen risked a backward glance and saw the Sand people spilling out impotently after them, their vast size diminishing as the distance between the settlement and the speeder increased.

"We can't stop to collect your transport." Owen said to the other boys as they sped over the stretch of land where the vehicles had been parked. "They could get their banthas and chase after us."

"I know," Marx said softly from behind him.

Owen wanted one of them to check on his father but he didn't know how to say it without sounding callous. His fists tightened on the controls in the long minutes that followed.

"Your father's breathing but he's hurt bad," Marx said suddenly.

Owen felt his hands shake with relief and his eyes filled. He glared furiously at the road.

"His leg is … pretty bad. And I don't know what's wrong with Nathan," Marx continued quickly. "He looks okay but he's… You'd better keep driving until we get to Anchorhead." There was another long silence. When Marx spoke again, his voice shook. "Sholh is dead."

The speeder swerved.

"Easy."

"What? How?" shouted Owen.

"A gaffi stick. I didn't notice in the middle of everything. Got him through the neck. He's dead."

''

_tbc_


	6. Despair

**Raiding the Raiders**

* * *

6, Despair

In the days that followed, lying in his bed as he battled with his guilt and sorrow and resigned himself to his new life as a cripple, Cliegg tried to recall what happened that night after the Raiders had poured down on him and his shooter had been snatched from his hand. The best his memory could serve were flashes of sound and colour; no particular sequence, just certain images that had scarred into his mind and would remain there forever.

Holding long knives, slick and slippery in his grip.

The press of bodies, a virtual wall of the giant-sized Sand people around him.

Blood spraying like the fountains of the Ator into the sky.

Pain in his back.

Pain in his arm.

Slash.

Cut.

Stab.

An upraised arm, an uncovered chest…

Adrenaline gave him extra perceptiveness. His eyes saw a flash of weakness and his knife followed through. He sold his life as dearly as he could.

The blade in his shoulder. Falling on his knees.

The white moons being gradually blocked out by a wall of darkness.

A masked face close enough to reach out and stab. He had.

The bones of his elbow snapping.

Darkness.

A graveyard of old friends.

The chiselling of sand pebbles on his face as he was dragged across the ground.

Fire. Monstrous shadows.

The pattern of blood on a blade.

Darkness.

A white face with black hair billowing around it.

Another one he had failed.

Impossible.

But it had leaned close and he allowed himself to believe.

He was so sorry. He had not saved her.

"Akia, I'm sorry."

Her dark eyes smiled at him. _"Wake up, Cliegg. Wake up."_

Her face morphed and became different, old, careworn but uniquely beautiful.

"Shmi! Shmi!"

Dark blue eyes, kind and sad. _"Wake up, Cliegg."_

He had to. He had to help her.

"Wake up, Cliegg!"

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

He could not save her.

_To Be Concluded..._

* * *

_**Raiding the Raiders** will be concluded in the next chapter. If you've been lurking, now's the chance to leave a reply. :D_


	7. Addendum

**Raiding the Raiders**

* * *

7, Addendum

**Jinn, Marxus**

A week after the raid, accompanied by Owen Lars, he made another attempt to rescue his father and Shmi Skywalker from the Tusken Raiders. Their covert reconnaissance of the camp yielded such harrowing information that they abandoned any hope of recovering their parents alive. Marxus Jinn remained on Tatooine for three more seasons, during which he wedded his childhood sweetheart. After the death of his mother, he and his small family relocated off-world. Their new habitat was invaded by Republic forces almost immediately after their arrival and Marxus was killed in an aerial bombing. At the end of the Wars, Marxus' widow and her daughter, Camie returned to Tatooine.

''

**Kendall, Nathan**

He escaped the unspeakable fate of his comrades with a few physical wounds that eventually healed. His mind, however, suffered internal damages. Soon after his return home, he was observed to have suddenly developed alarming habits, which included parading the farmlands half-clothed, 'hunting' the Tusken Raiders by calling out challenges to imagined Raiders. He reacted violently to attempts made to pacify or restrain him and his family eventually allowed him to wander the farmlands as he pleased. Two seasons later, he was officially certified incurably insane by a visiting physician from Anchorhead. Young children took to calling him Nattie Kendall and that was the name he was known by until the end of his life.

''

**Lars, Cliegg**

The superficial wounds of his injuries healed; his mutilated leg was amputated and he was crippled for the rest of his life. He retired from active farm work and became a contemplative man who lived out his days in the comfort and love of his family, deriving a special joy in his grandson. After he died, he was buried in the Lars' family plot, along with his parents and his wife, Shmi.

''

**Lars, Owen**

Physically unharmed by the encounter, he remained on Tatooine and took over actively running the family business from his father. Two seasons later, he married his childhood sweetheart, Beru Whitesun and three seasons later, adopted his nephew, Luke Skywaker. Twenty-five seasons later, he and his wife were tortured and killed by Imperial stormtroopers dispatched by Darth Vader. Unable to locate the family plot, whose markers had been removed by Owen Lars, Luke Skywalker buried the burnt bodies of his uncle and aunt in graves he dug in the Lars' farmstead. Owen Lars was the last of the line of Lars farmers.

''

_Thirty of us went looking for her._

_Four of us came back._

**Fin**

_

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed this story. May the Force be with you._


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